Roan wasn’t sure he liked the twinkle in her large green eyes. The rancher was wise and crafty, to say the least. She had broadly hinted from time to time that he should think about settling down, having a family. Right. And those weren’t just idle words coming from his boss. No, Maud Whitcomb was a master chess player on the board of life. She’d even provocatively dangled the one thing he’d wanted the most since leaving the Army: to build a cabin he could call is own. After the first year, she’d gifted him with five acres of land on the other side of Pine Grove, on Wind River Ranch property.
Maud provided the logging package that would help make his home, a cedar log cabin, a reality. Roan spent every waking minute out at his small spread when he wasn’t wrangling for the Wind River Ranch. The cabin was coming along after a year of his hard work and he was pleased with the progress he’d made. Roan wasn’t one to stand idle for too long, anyway. The need to be outside in the elements, to battle them and win, was overriding. He’d gotten the shell of the cabin up, roofed with cedar shake shingles, and now, this coming season, he could start building the inner guts of the house, the plumbing and electricity; all of which he had knowledge of. Being a Special Forces A-team member, he’d become skilled at many other areas of life.
Shiloh twisted a look over her shoulder as she stood at the bars over the stall door, staring in at Charley, who was finishing his hay for the morning. “He looks awful big,” she said, worrying her lower lip. Charley’s big brown eyes studied her as he calmly munched his hay, his small, fine ears flicking back and forth. Roan came to a halt at her side. He towered over her, but it made her feel safe.
“Actually,” Roan drawled, pulling on his leather gloves, “Charley is pretty small. He’s only fourteen hands high. Taller than a pony but nowhere near the height of the other working horses here at the ranch. Most of them are fifteen and sixteen hands tall.”
“Oh.” Shiloh studied the horse. He had a long black-and-white mane, his forelock fuzzy and thick between his ears and draping down across his broad forehead. “Is he . . . friendly?”
“You mean, is he ornery?” Roan placed his hand beneath her elbow, wanting to touch Shiloh. Any excuse would do. He pulled her gently to one side and then released her. Picking up a red nylon halter with a lead rope attached to it, he said, “Charley’s an old man. He’s been around and he knows the drill. He has one speed: slow,” and Roan grinned, sliding open the box stall door. “Now, watch what I do, Shiloh, because from now on, you’ll be doing it instead.”
Standing to the side, she watched as Roan murmured hello to Charley, patted him in a friendly manner on the neck, and then slid the halter over his nose, buckling it on top of his head. Roan turned.
“Got that?”
Nodding, Shiloh said, “I think so.”
Roan saw the trepidation in her eyes. “Okay,” he murmured, and after unbuckling the halter and sliding it off Charley, he handed it to her and said, “Your turn.”
Gulping, Shiloh watched Roan step aside. She stepped into the thick cedar shavings on the floor of the stall. The sweet smell of alfalfa made her inhale more deeply.
“Always slide the door shut before you do anything,” Roan advised, angling his chin in that direction. “A horse will escape. And then, you’ll have to hunt him down and find him. Not what you want to do.”
“Right,” Shiloh said, gripping the halter in her hand. Turning, she slid the door shut. Anxiety shot through her as she approached the munching horse. Roan reached out, hand on her elbow, guiding her to one side of Charley.
“You never approach a horse head-on, Shiloh. See how their eyes are set? On the sides of their head? They can’t see you if you walk up directly in front of them. You want your horse to see you coming so you don’t spook him. Always quietly approach them at an angle.” His mouth twisted in a slight grin. “If a horse is spooked, he usually leaps straight ahead. And you can get hit and run over. Another reason to always approach from an angle. Okay?” He forced himself to release her elbow as she stood close to him. Shiloh had tamed her red hair into a ponytail. Roan had suggested she wear Levi’s, her cowboy boots, a tee, and a blue chambray long-sleeved shirt over it. Later on in the morning, it would turn warm. And in the afternoon, it would get hot. Layers were always a good thing.
“Okay,” Shiloh said, hesitantly reaching out to pet Charley’s sleek, gleaming neck. He was a beautiful horse, really. Just—big.
Charley snorted. She jumped. Scared.
“It’s okay,” Roan reassured her, touching her shoulder, seeing the fear come to her eyes. “Horses are always clearing their noses. That’s normal.”
“I thought—I thought he was going to bite me,” she said, and she cast a look up into Roan’s features. The man’s face was iconic. Someone who had weathered many things in his life other than just the storms and challenges he must have endured as an operator. His mouth teased her. It was a wide mouth, well shaped and strong. Gulping again, nervous, Shiloh fingered the halter and rope.